Killer Bs

There are 99 ballerinas searching for the home they are running away from—vigilantes in this apocalypse because no one could hear their angry feet, cracked, with broken and reset toes— crooked and disformed for the rest of their serviceable existence. They continue to spin no matter what. Often, they crumble in kitchens and bedrooms. Always to the groaning of men. All ‘Rinas receive are standing ovations by watchers robotic to the tutu—faces like an LOL-smiling-emoji— not a bit of sense running through what doesn’t grimace. People ain’t all one thing. The things you do to be a ‘Rina, when everyone looks for some art to toe pointing in pointe shoes. The art of chaînés. ‘Rinas are the silent army in the streets, taking out double-takers with their powerful legs. Their slippers embedded with razor- blades. Their turns, ravage like razor wire. Cinematic. Non-choreographed. They fast toe, step-point, like a pat of flamingoes. Heated. Full of that red-blood splashing about their faces and tights.We’re all broken and taped like yesterday was a waste. The ‘Rina’s smile and sweat, say it was not.

Curtis L. Crisler was born and raised in Gary, Indiana. Crisler has 4 full-length poetry books, 2 YA books, and 4 poetry chapbooks. He’s been published in a variety of magazines, journals, and anthologies. He’s been a contributing poetry editor, and he also created the Indiana Chitlin Circuit. Crisler is an Associate Professor of English at PFW. He can be contacted at www.poetcrisler.com.